


Sign of the Times

by Pigeonsplotinsecrecy



Series: MacGyver Create-A-Thon 2019 [4]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Despair, Gen, Grief, Pre-Series, Sadness, Wakes & Funerals, moutning, supportive jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 05:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19419232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy/pseuds/Pigeonsplotinsecrecy
Summary: When Nikki died, Mac had to mourn her loss. He had to learn to live without her. This story shows the deep sorrow and grief that Nikki put Mac through when she let him believe she was dead. Because the pain Mac went through that night was much deeper than the shot to his chest. He missed Nikki, and Jack, of course, was there to help him through, even if little can be said to someone who thinks they've just lost the love of their life.





	Sign of the Times

_Just stop your crying_

_It’s a sign of the times_

_Welcome to the final show_

_Hope you’re wearing your best clothes_

* * *

The day of Nikki’s funeral, Mac paced his house, waiting until Jack told him it was time to head over to the funeral. He’d been dressed since 5 am, and the funeral wasn’t until 11, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, and was too anxious to wait to get ready. It was almost time to leave now, and Mac was feeling frustrated more than sad. His chest ached, and he wasn’t sure if it was the physical pain from having been shot or the emotional pain from losing Nikki. He didn’t like thinking about the fact that he had lived, and she had died.

His emotions were quickly going from manageable to uncontrollably messy like a bleeding cut put under water. He was covered with the sticky, staining roux of mourning, and it felt like it was constantly bubbling up from little geysers in his pores.

The sun shot into the room through the slits of his blinds, and Mac wanted curl up in his basement and hide from the intrusive glimmers of light. This was not a light at the end of the tunnel kind of day. It was a gloom and doom and deafen oneself with emo music from the early 2000s kind of day.

Little glimpses of the universe beyond his cage of grief made him seethe. How dare anything exist outside his darkness? How dare the sunshine beam ever so brightly in a blue, cloudless sky while Mac couldn’t escape the storm in his own brain? The heavens were taunting him by being so joyful. A sunny day was like the world smiling, and Mac wasn’t sure how there could be any smiles at all when all he could feel was despair, the kind where even the hope of emerging felt like a myth more than fiction.

He wished it were still night. Night was a safe time for crying invisibly in the blackness. Night understood the deep pulls of grief—the depression, the anger, and whatever else there was to grief that Mac had yet to let himself feel. Night understood his urge to wallow in the darkness. Night didn’t mind if he drank a drink too many or watched eight episodes of a show in a row. When it was dark, all the darkness could exist inside him without the judgement or clarity of day. Night was hazy, drowsily muddling the lines between reality and dream. Night was a safe space for grieving but waking up was a harsh shock to the senses.

Mac hated the post-night hangover, one completely distinct from alcohol, that feeling of having to achily starting anew when he wasn’t ready to start at all. His head would pound, and his stomach would turn as the birds began to hum and the first bursts of sun trickled into his room, ripping away his bottomless doom like a bully covertly removing his victim’s training wheels without permission. It wasn’t that he needed the doom nor did he want it, but he should be the one to decide when he was able to exist without it. He should be the one to say when he could exist separately from his grief.

He imagined surfers and vacationers at the beaches, enjoying the good weather and basking in the sun. Kids had ice cream cones, sloppily licking at them until the cone was gone and only sticky remnants remained on their faces. Dogs trotted by their owners’ sides, their collars jingling in the easy California breeze. Mac would bet that most of Los Angeles would be out having fun while he lagged several steps behind all other lifeforms, trying to piece together a reasonable semblance of his old self while not knowing what that self was without her. He wanted rain to pour down and drench all those happy souls because Nikki was dead, and the world shouldn’t keep on going like nothing was wrong. He wanted the universe to commiserate with all the pain he was feeling. Misery loved company.

He felt empty, as if his soul had disappeared to the same place Nikki’s body had gone. It was as if he was an automaton, an angry one, marching through life only because that’s what he was programmed to do, but the sun was forcing feeding the nooks and crannies of his soul with everything he’d tried to chase away for his own sanity like butter spreading into tiny pools on an English muffin.

But sunshine was like cotton candy—fluffy and itself empty. No matter how much the sun heated his skin, the cold feeling of missing his other half lingered in the layers of skin that the sun didn’t penetrate. The dreadful part was that Nikki was still completely missing. They’d never been able to find her body, so Mac couldn’t even see her one last time.

She’d only be buried in spirit, and the notion just made for bleaker thoughts to be thrown into the inferno Nikki’s death had kindled in Mac’s brain. For a while, he let himself hope that maybe Nikki wasn’t dead after all. He daydreamed about her reappearing at his doorstep, explaining to him why she had been gone so long. It had all been a misunderstand. He wasn’t religious, but he prayed that she’d come home. Without a body, it was always possible that she could return, and he hated the inconclusiveness of it. There was no saying goodbye, only a “hope to see you later.”

The light hit his eyes, making them water. “Why is it so freaking sunny?” Mac asked exasperatedly after Jack had pulled Mac to a standstill when he’d gotten fed up with all Mac’s pacing.

Jack smoothed out Mac’s hair and fixed his tie. “It’s California, man. There tends to be a lot of sunshine. It is the sunshine state, after all.”

“That’s Florida, Jack.”

“It’s sunny here too.”

Mac shifted uncomfortably. “I hate suits.”

“I’m not much of a fan of ‘em myself.”

“Do I look okay? I know it’s just a funeral, but it’s—I—Nikki…” Mac trailed off. “I just want to look okay.”

“You look great.”

“But not like I’m trying to make a funeral my runway kind of great right?”

“Wait, what?”

“I mean, I don’t look like I’m trying too hard?”

“You’re dressed perfectly for the occasion, Mac.” Jack took Mac’s arm. “Come on, why don’t you sit down for a while. We don’t need to leave for another few minutes, and you’ve been on your feet all morning. We’ll leave in a bit and still get there with plenty of time to spare.”

“I like being early to things, but Nikki was always late,” Mac recalled. His eyes fell to the ground. “She’s going to be late to her own funeral. At this rate, she won’t even show up.” Mac laughed weakly at the thought of Nikki turning up to her own funeral. He sighed. “I don’t think they’ll ever find her body, but I want to know she still exists at least in some form. I want to feel her again.”

“I can’t make any promises, and it may be in little things like a greeting card you see in the store that reminds you of her or a show she used to love, but I have a feeling she’ll be there in some way because you can’t erase the traces people leave in your life. The people we lose show up in ways we least expect.” And if Mac hadn’t felt so angry, those words might have made him cry, but they made him hopeless. If he kept seeing her in all those little things, he’d never be happy again.

* * *

At the funeral, Mac sat next to Jack in the row behind Nikki’s parents. Thornton sat right behind them. Her face was cool, and if she had any emotions, they didn’t show, but Mac didn’t judge her too harshly for that because he was sure the numbness he felt inside had seeped into his face like Botox, pulling his features into a tight, generic expression. Jack sniffled a little beside him, and Mac envied his ability to release those little drops of sadness from his body. Mac’s tears were all stuffed in his face, clogging his ability to see. The whole world like murky.

The funeral felt too clinical for his tastes. Flowers were arranged carefully around the empty coffin, a symbol more than anything, and plaques were carefully engraved to honor Nikki’s accomplishments, but most of the people there never knew all the world changing things she had really done. They didn’t know she was a hero.

The simple chairs were hard and scantily padded, but Mac sat there as Nikki was eulogized. He watched as her dad sobbed through a speech he’d prepared. He struggled to deal with outliving his daughter, a parent’s nightmare. Between the excess of emotions, the itchy suit fabric, and the lame ass chair cushions, Mac squirmed in his seat, unable to feel comfortable. Mac had wanted to say a few word himself, but his mouth was dry, and his mind were failing him. He didn’t have the mental energy to coax all the things he wanted to express to the tip of his tongue, letting them spring off it like a diving board, tumbling ten feet into the dense, sticky air of the funeral home. Speaking gave thoughts weight, and Mac couldn’t take any more heaviness.

* * *

When he returned home, Mac didn’t even take his shoes off. He flipped the blinds closed as tightly as they would go, blocking all but the thinnest stipes of sun. He dropped into bed, curling up on the side that used to be Nikki’s. They hadn’t moved in together, _yet_ , but they rarely slept apart. Mac hated sleeping alone now that he knew what it was like to have someone always there. He hadn’t changed the sheets since she had died, and if he sniffed closely, he swore he could smell the faint aroma of her jasmine body wash and citrus shampoo. He kept her perfume on his nightstand and when he was really missing her, he would mist the air with it, close his eyes, and let the smell remind him of the days when he’d nuzzle his nose against her neck as he kissed her, taking in the fragrance. Her brush was in the bathroom next to his comb, and at night, he’d run his fingers along the bristles, letting them prickle and tickle his fingers like Nikki’s long blonde hair used to when it would trail along his chest as she leaned in close, letting her warm breath fill his ears with sweet nothings. She’d giggle and Mac would put his head in her hair, smelling her shampoo and holding her head in his hands as he whispered dirtier thoughts.

She’d kill him if she knew he’d gotten into bed with shoes on, but he didn’t have the energy to take them off, just like he didn’t have the energy to stop himself from getting lost in Nikki’s memory. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe it was the little things that would bring her back to him, but it wasn’t fair. The lingering smell of her would soon become stale and faint, washed away with detergent and fabric softener. She’ll be cleaned away, her scent flushed away with the dirty clothes water, spinning down the drain to the same place where all the filth goes, her memory as buried as her empty casket.

It enraged Mac to think that even the things that Nikki left behind would become less tangible over time, decaying in his fingers as he tried to get the closest that he could to feeling her again. Like leaves in the fall, they’d reach peak brilliance, only to end up deteriorating, brown and crunchy on the cool autumn ground.

Mac heard a knock at his door. “Come in,” he said, knowing it had to be Jack. The knock had been firm with a lighthearted touch to it. Classic Jack. Mac didn’t really want to be around anyone, but he knew Jack would only worry more if Mac closed himself off.

Jack scooted onto the other side of the bed, and Mac felt the dip of a body next to his. A pang stabbed his chest as he was reminded of how much more comfortable a bed was when there was weight on either side. Mac closed his eyes, pushing back the tears that threatened to fall. He’d made it through the funeral with out weeping, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose control now in the light of day before the sun dipped behind the horizon and the stars dimly poked through the light polluted sky. If he let those tears escape, he wouldn’t be able to fight full on bawling.

The weight shifted closer to Mac as he felt tugging at his feet and heard two clunks against the floor. The right side of the bed lifted again. A few moments later after some shuffling in the room, Mac felt a soft weight over him. He kept his eyes closed, but he could tell from the frayed edges that this was the throw his mom had knit for him when she had been sick. It was big enough to cover him—had been mammoth when first given to him—because she said she’d “made it for him to grow into, so in some way she could be there when he grew up.” He didn’t remember her saying that, but his grandpa insisted that’s what had happened. The mattress dipped again.

“You want company, hoss?” Not “Are you okay?” or “How are you holding up?” just a simple question that Mac had the emotional ability to answer. He opened his eyes to look at Jack.

“It’s worse when I’m alone.” He wanted to be alone, but it made him worse to be by himself.

That’s what scared Mac the most, being left to his lonesome with only his mind to keep him company, spending long trains of thought yearning for a human connection that was already severed. He hated the thought of everybody being gone. It made little difference whether it was by force or choice. Both came with the sting of loneliness. Both gave Mac something to grieve, but at least people who left voluntarily could come back, even if no one wanted them to.

Even so, when someone came back, it was impossible to pick up where they left off. Leaving inevitably caused hurt and returning completely altered the course of healing. Like if they found Nikki’s body, it would break open all the wounds that were only just beginning to scab over.

Jack nodded. “I imagine it would be.”

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Why do all the people I love either die or leave?” It had started with his mom, and from there, people seemed to leave more than they stayed.

“I’m still here. Bozer is still here. I hope we’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Everyone has to someday, and I’m not sure how I’ll do it. How do you survive losing all the people who mean the most to you? How can you stop yourself from constantly wishing they were with you again? I’m afraid I’ll never stop missing Nikki.”

“Mac, I’ll always miss my dad. There will be days when there’s nothing I want more than to talk to him again, but it does get easier. You learn to adapt and to remember their lives with fondness instead of their deaths with bitterness.”

Mac turned over on his back, staring at the smooth ceiling. The whiteness was blinding. “There’s too much space without her, and I can’t help but get lost in it, putting myself where she should be.” Tears began to free themselves, rolling down Mac’s face, past his chin, onto his neck and edging either side of his Adam’s apple to meet at the divot just above his collarbone.

His body began to shake with sobs, and he slithered into an upright position so he could drop his head on Jack’s shoulder, both of them propped against the headboard. All the anger he had ran down his face in streams of salty sorrow, and by the end, he just felt resigned— tired, sad, and a long way from learning how to exist without Nikki. 

* * *

_Just stop your crying, have the time of your life_

_Breaking through the atmosphere_

_And things look pretty good from here_

_Remember everything will be alright_

_We can meet again somewhere_

_Somewhere far away from here_

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a fic that showed the emotional ramifications of the happenings of the first episode and how thinking Nikki was dead would have impacted Mac because that's an awful thing he had to go through right away (no wonder this fandom likes whump so much... the first episode started with the hero being shot basically right away and having his dead girlfriend turn out to be not so dead). Anyway, I hope you liked this, and feel free to make any comments. Thank you for reading, incredible humans xxx


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